


Best Laid Plans

by wildair7



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 11:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13787073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildair7/pseuds/wildair7
Summary: Science Officer Lt. Lyra Marlain sets out one night to gain something from Spock no other woman has achieved, except her attempts fail to end exactly as she plans.





	Best Laid Plans

**Best Laid Plans**

By

 

Janelle Holmes

 

 

     Another year’s end in space, another Christmas/New Year’s Eve Party aboard _The Enterprise_ , but I’d vowed, thereby resolved and promised myself, this year’s party would be different, because this year, unlike those others, I would get Mr. Spock.

     A heady resolution one might think? Well, absolutely right. After all, three-fourths of the entire female science staff under the age of thirty-five were crazy over that mysterious Vulcan, and none had succeeded, not even a certain Head Nurse, whose name I’ll retire to obscurity for my own reasons.

     Actually, my plan was quite simple, especially when you compared it to some of the hair-brained schemes previously used on our dark-haired First Officer. Mine, though, ah, mine was amazingly devoid of complexities, so foolproof, so “logical” I couldn’t possibly lose.

     It had taken three full years for me to initiate my plan, to reach the point in what professional relationship I shared with Commander Spock, where I could facilitate our meeting and the subsequent completion of my fantastic master plan.

 

     The festivities began promptly at Nineteen-Thirty, the music piped into the largest rec room on the ship, which was decorated with painstaking detail and care by the Science Division, with yours truly supervising, so knew the exact location of every part important to my proposed actions.

    Last to enter were the officers: Kirk, Scott, Spock, then Uhura and McCoy. Sulu remained in command on the Bridge, although we were drifting along at sublight speed. Seeing my change when Spock stood by the buffet, examining its contents and picking out the few vegetarian items that tantalized his taste buds, I made my way casually across the room, nodding or cheerfully wishing Merry Christmases to those I passed. My most cheerful greeting, I saved for Spock who remained only a short distance away. I picked up a glass of amber-colored, non-alcoholic beverage and approached him.

     “Mr. Spock,” I said, eyes half-lowered and smiling then looked up to his face. My intention meant to seem demure but forthright, I hoped it succeeded. “Do you find everything satisfactory.”

 “Indeed, Lieutenant Marlain, I am more than impressed with the evident care given in the array of victuals, if that is your question.”

     “I take that as a personal compliment, then.”

     He raised a single eyebrow in astonishment. “Then I do compliment you, if you are solely responsible.”

     “What do you think of the decorations,” I asked, happily motioning to the sprigs of mistletoe, holly, and gaily-hued tinsel.

     “Reminiscent of a pagan holiday.”

     “Ah, so you are aware of the tradition of the pagan Saturnalia rites which gave rise to many of our holiday traditions on Earth.”

     “Quite. Surely, you need no further proof of my knowledge.”

    “Indeed, not,” I replied. Such was often the gist of our conversations: rational, often scholarly.

     He seemed to look at me for the first time that night, because for the first time very few of the off-duty personally, particularly the women, wore uniforms. As for myself, I’d take special care in choosing my own attire: a full-length gown of brilliant red, not too revealing, not too concealing, but relying on the color to bring a healthy glow to my complexion and the clinging fit of the shiny satin fabric to enhance my own attributes.

     His eyes shifted to mine, warm and calm. “You are quite lovely tonight, Lieutenant.”

     “Please,” I began, “can’t we call each other by first names, at least tonight?”      He cocked his head. “I certainly see no harm in it, as far as the two of us are concerned. However, in the presence of others…”

    “You’d feel embarrassed.”

     “Of course, not. It simply isn’t proper for you to refer to your commanding officer nor the head of your section by his first name.”

     “As long as decorum is maintained while uniform, or on duty…” I paused, thinking. “I believe you won’t use my first name because you can’t remember it.”

     “I do remember. It is Lyra.”

     “And so?”

     “In private, I agree to call you Lyra.”

     “And here, tonight?”

     “I cannot manage it in this venue, not yet. Perhaps later.”

     “Here,” I said handing him the glass I held, “fixed especially for you the way you like.”

     He stared at the glassful of yellow liquid. “Are you presuming to wait upon me, as would a slave or subservient?”

     “Hardly. I merely enjoy my beverage as you do yours, and since I had this quite untasted glassful, I offer it to you…as a gift, if you will.”

     One finger of his other hand touched the glass’ edge, his little finger gliding over my hand.        

 _Yes,_ I mused, _this just might work_

     As I studied his action, he said, “Is it not Human tradition for a gift to be recompensed with the giving of another?

     “Usually, but not always. I won’t hold you to that tradition.”

     “Then I accept your gift.” He took the glass and raised it to his tempting lips, tasting the drink like a wine connoisseur. “It suits me well…Miss Marlain. I thank you, but you must obtain another for yourself.”

     “Don’t worry. I can easily do without.”

     I watched with anticipation as he drank sip after sip of the golden fluid, smiling internally, externally making small talk as we weaved in and out of the increasingly large crowd and across the room to a small alcove.

     Here, it the air was cooler and the atmosphere more private, as well.

     Spock turned, observing the men and women in idle curiosity, while I glanced overhead, checking our position. We were right on target.

     “Spock,” I half-whispered, touching his forearm, “do you know all Earth’s holiday traditions?”

     He turned back to me, giving me his attention, dark eyes warmer than before, then they reached to where mine rested to see the gray-green clump of mistletoe, securely attached to the alcove ceiling, decorated appropriately in a ribbon of green and red.

     “Ah, _Phonrandendron flavescens,_ ” he remarked with aplomb, then l looked at me. “Yes, a curious tradition for such parasitic fungi. I never did understand the connection between one and the other.”

     “I always heard you see no harm in adopting the traditions or customs of other races,” I said stepping closer with each word, “as long as they aren’t detrimental to yourself. Is that true?” I asked, feeling like a brazen hussy.

He lowered his head, and his eyes met mine, the corners of his mouth turned upward more than I’d seen them before, almost as if…he tried to smile…or hide one.

    “You are quite right, Lyra.” With the hand nearest the wall, he touched mine where it rested against my thigh. “Here, however, is not the place for such…’traditions.’ At least, not for me.”

     My breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t believe it. My logic had worked…or was this something else? Did this seemingly emotionless, cool alien laugh inside at me? Did he have a plan of his own to destroy mine, because I never expected this reaction to my words. I planned nothing more than a quick kiss under the weed, having succeeded at something none of the other women had.

     Anyway, if he was acting, slyly thwarting my intent, couldn’t I do the same? I looked up at him, smiling slightly to myself and asked in response, “Then where, Mr. Spock, or when?”

     His hand squeezed mine, and once more my breath caught in my throat.

     “Fifteen minutes from now. My quarters.” That said, he released my hand, turned, and left without my agreement or disagreement.

     As soon as he’d gone, Doctor McCoy joined me. “And here’s my number one lab chief. Enjoying all this?” He held a mint julep, I noticed. At least it appeared as I imagined one.

     “Where’d you get that?” I asked, pointing to the green concoction.

     “Where they all come from. Why?”

     “What’s in it?”

     “He glanced at the drink then me, oddly. “Rum mostly.”   

     “Will it make me drunk?”

     “Sure.” He laughed. “If you drink enough of anything, even water, it’ll make you drunk.”

     I grabbed the glass from his hand and gulped it down in a single swig, gasping for air, afterwards, when the fiery stuff burned my throat.

     “Lyra, you’d better watch it. Besides, I’d have gladly gotten you another. All you had to do was ask.”

     “Doctor,” I said, still heaving and coughing to rid myself of sensation, “believe me, I needed that more than you did.”

     “Say,” he said, grasping my arm gently, “what happened to bring this on? Did Spock say something to you, though I can’t imagine what.”

     “That’s just it,” I replied, still coughing, “he didn’t do anything. Be a great boss,” I said, handing him the empty glass, “and get me another, will you…or two.”

     Bones seemed more puzzled as he left me, and I staggered to a nearby vacant table.

     Gaining some sense of reality, I began casting my eyes around as I waited McCoy’s return with the potion which would further fortify me for the rest of the night. At least the mistletoe appeared to be working for everyone else. The Captain, alone, had claimed his kiss from almost every female in the room. Even had his own bunch of the stuff. Must have been drunk or near it, since he’d not been this goofy at last year’s party.

     “Oh, great!” I muttered to myself, seeing him approaching me, tip-toeing up to my table, mistletoe dangling between two fingers of his right hand.

    I bolted, mumbling an, “Excuse me,” as I rushed, hand to mouth for the nearest latrine.

    Ten minutes passed before I returned and found McCoy sitting at the same table I’d vacated, one julep in front of him held between two capable hands, and another where I’d sat.

     Slipping into my chair, I apologized for my previous behavior and subsequent disappearance.

     “Forget it.” He pulled a stack of crackers from underneath the table. “Thought you might need these.”

     “Thanks. Works for morning sickness… why not this?”      Well, crunching away on the crumbly bread, I certainly didn’t feel glamorous nor sexy or seductive anymore, much less up to my meeting with Spock, which moved closer all the time. The room chronometer showed I was five minutes late.

     Reinforced by a soft stomach lining of well-chewed crackers, I downed the rest of my mint julep, bent down and gave Bones the traditional kiss, said, “Merry Christmas and a wonderful New Year,” and staggered out the swooshing metal door.

 

     I must have been drunk, because I couldn’t recall which corridor held the officers’ quarters. For that matter, I wasn’t sure where mine were located. Another ten minutes later, I reached Spock’s door.

     Straightening my gown and throwing back my shoulders, almost falling in the process, I sucked in a lungful of air, leaned bodily forward, finger pointed, and pushed the buzzer.

     The door slid aside, placing me off balance, but I recovered quickly—couldn’t believe how quickly.

     I peeked inside. All dark. No Vulcan I could see.

     “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I said, giggling, then stumbled through the open door and arrived at mid-room and spread my legs enough to steady myself. Hands on hip, continuously slipping off, I tried again. “Ah, come on. You promised.”

     “You are exactly twenty-three minutes, seventeen seconds tardy, tolled a familiar voice. “Furthermore, you are decidedly inebriated.”

      “Pooh,” I poofed. “I’m exactly,” I corrected, with a glance at the chronometer on his desk, “twenty-three minutes, _thirteen_ second late. So there! You’re wrong, Spock,” I added, steadying my equilibrium. “You’re wrong.”

     A strong hand came out and guided me somewhere. I didn’t know where until I’d sobered up.

     The same voice continued as a hand stroked my hair. “You drugged me purposefully, didn’t you?” Even his words were becoming slurred, I noticed.

     I twittered in reply.

     “You’re a biochemist,” he went on. “You knew what that drug would do.”

     I smiled crookedly and closed my eyes, which were too heavy to remain open.

     A hand shook me awake. My eyes opened and blinked. A pale face blurred close to mine and moist lips touch my own.

     “You kissed me,” I said, giggling again.

     “Of course, only logical, since there’s no mistletoe here.”

     That didn’t sound logical to me, despite my current state. “ _Non sequitur_ ,” I replied, authoritatively. “Doesn’t compute.”

     “Rastar,” he returned, whatever that meant, although I had a vague feeling it was the Vulcan equivalent of a four-letter word. In fact, all his side of what remained of our conversation that night was in Vulcan, but I didn’t care as long as he kept kissing me.

 

     When I awoke the next morning and sat up, I noticed Spock still lay sound asleep beside me on the narrow bed. I didn’t remember how we got there, neither did I remember what happened, but I felt terrible: nauseous, you know. And my head! I swear I could hear each computer bank ticking as far off as the Bridge.

     I moaned once, hands clenched to head and fell back.

     That woke up Spock.

     “What are you doing here? Oh, yes, now I remember.”

     I slapped a hand over my eyes as he turned on the lights. “Do you also remember what happened, last night?” I asked.

     “I remember,” he said, after a pregnant pause then felt his hand sliding across my (thank goodness) still clothed waist.

     _Oh, boy,_ I considered, _what_ did _I do?_

“Listen, Spock,” I said aloud, “you know that sounds so intimate without the cold addition of commander, especially here in your bed. I never realized it before.” I thrust my body to an upright position. “Scratch that last comment. Now, listen…, you, I don’t know what we did last night, but I think you should know I wasn’t myself.”

     “I know.”

     “And I don’t care what you think of me, because I wasn’t responsible, not really.” I stopped my words and reflected on his last ones. “You know?” I turned to him, where he lay propped up on an elbow, eyeing me.

     “Yes. Do you find it odd I could detect your normal behavior from your abnormal, even when drugged?” He laid back on the bed. “Nothing happened.”

     I exhaled the breath I’d been holding. “I’m really sorry…, Mr. Spock.”

     He touched my arm. “Remember our agreement: only first names in private? Lie down, Lyra.”

     I did as told, stiffly extending out beside his much more relaxed body, still in dress uniform, although admittedly a much rumpled one. Not wrinkled, just rumpled.

     “Lyra,” he asked, “are you infatuated with me?”

     “Infatuated?” I squeaked. “I haven’t been infatuated since prep school.”

     “Then…?”

     “I…I felt we could become…quite…close. That’s all.”

     “All?” he returned, shifting position. “And I say not all.”

     “Have you been reading my mind?” I asked turning to him accusingly.

     “There was no need. Actions always speak louder than words.”

     “Damn.” Turning away from him, I exhaled a frustrated breath.

     “You’d best go now. It is near your duty hour.”

     A glance at the chronometer verified his observation, and I leaped out of bed, ran around the divider and out the obliging door to my own quarters, hundreds of meters and a turbo trip away.

 

     Once on duty, in my spotless fresh daily uniform and some semblance of order restored to my long hair, I began to relax, at last.

     The labs in BioChem were my personal element. While I didn’t have much to do except supervise this particular day, I set up a project of my own I’d meant to undertake for months. My equipment setup, I made a short surveillance of my staff’s projects, answering their few questions and checking each array of items for their assigned tasks. This is when the First Office decided to conduct his inspection of the labs, a monthly one to be exact, although to me, it seemed a bit earlier than usual.

     Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed his arrival, on hearing the swish of the lab-room door, arms hanging casually at his sides, as always, his face immobile, as always, his eyes cold blackened steel, almost as always. Then I realized his steps were directed straight towards me and half-snapped to attention on his approach—about as much as I could, considering the aftereffects of the previous night.

     “How are things down here, Lieutenant?” he asked.

     I stared straight ahead, all militaristic and avoided his eyes. “Seventeen projects completed this week, ten underway, total completed this month…to date thirty-two…sir.”

     “Hmm. And what is that particular experiment, Lieutenant?” he asked, indicating the one I arranged minutes before.

     “Mine, sir.”

     He strode over to it, with me behind, and touched the numerous coils and resistors. “Explain, please, the significance of your experience…, Lieutenant Marlain.”

     “It concerns the bioelectrical functions of the body, sir. Different areas of the body act as resistors and some as generators. By blocking certain parts within this electrical system—”

     “I believe I understand.” He looked around the room, where my eyes followed, noting the others working busily at their own experiments, paying us little notice. Even Doctor McCoy had occupied himself across the room.

     The dark eyes of the Vulcan returned to me, his voice speaking low and softly. “Have you recovered, Lyra?”

     “Yes, sir,” I answered.

     His eyes twinkled with amusement in partial reply, despite his mouth being firmly set. “Then, will you feel up to dining with me tonight? In my quarters at Nineteen-hundred? And, please, be on time.”

     “I…” was all I could manage before he left, leaving me more confused than ever.

     Taking my seat, I began clamping wires to electrodes and wondered where I’d gone wrong in my Master Plan, where a harmless kiss had turned into a future I doubted I could handle. The mysterious Vulcan had become more mysterious…and unpredictable. Had his association with large numbers of Humans begun to change his personality? Could it, for that matter? Was he becoming more Human and less Vulcan? It certainly seemed like it.

 

     So, like an idiot, I went to his quarters that night at the appointed time, but you can bet I didn’t wear anything seductive. Nope, I wore my duty uniform. The way I figured it, he’s used to seeing women’s legs, so if I covered mine up, that would be seductive, right. Well, that was about as far as my analytical mind would work.

     The time, his quarters were well lit, more like it had been that morning. Had it only been this morning she awoke beside him? At any rate, the faint odor of sweet incense, not sickly sweat but light, permeated the cabin air. As I entered, Spock took my hand and led me into the room, seating me at one side of the desk, now serving as our dining table. He took his place across, fingers laced under his chin as his dark eyes studied me.

     “Where’s the food?” I asked.

     “Soon,” was all he would say.

     “Mr. Spock—”

     “Just Spock,” he corrected, since we were private.

     “Spock, I have a great deal to do tonight, so could we please eat?

     “There is much I need to say. Your other plans must wait.” He paused, closing his eyes. “You are thirty-two years of age, correct?”

     “Yes, but what—”

     He held up a hand, silencing me. “Do you know what year this is?”

     “Naturally. It’s the end of the _Enterprise’s_ thirtieth standard year in space.”

     “It is also the year which will mark another anniversary in my life, one which comes every seven years. I believe you are aware of the term _pon farr._ ”

     In answer, I blushed.

     “Yes, I can see you are.” He took my hand from across the desk and gained my full attention, my eyes now fixed on his. “I wish you to become my wife.”

     “What?” I screeched.

     “You heard.”

     “Why me?”

     “I have my reasons.”

     “Could I think about it a day or so?”

     He released my hand and sat back. “Of course.”

     The food then arrived, and we ate in silence.

 

 

     The next day brought the _Enterprise_ to Aldemar Fourteen. Again, I ate in Spock’s quarters, wearing my duty uniform and he, his, neither of us speaking but just as uncomfortable not to speak.  The com whistled, drawing our attention.

     Spock hit the switch and answered. “Spock here.”

     “Mr. Spock, you’re to head a landing party to the planet surface,” the sultry tones of Uhura informed. “Phasers will be issued. Natives considered hostile. Transporter Room in twenty minutes.”

     “Understood. Spock out.”

     He turned and touched my hair, smoothing its wayward tendrils, which only an hour ago I’d tamed with a guaranteed product.

     “It will be some time before I return. May I see you then?”

     “I have Bridge duty in an hour, so will be there until late tonight. Afterwards…, yes, you may see me.”

     “Have you made your decision?”

     I lowered my eyes, recalling the many arguments with myself, the pros and cons. The cons were winning, except the pros made me doubt. “No,” I finally replied.

     “There is still time. I will not rush you.” Then he left, leaving me staring at the two plates of partially eaten food, where I sat alone another forty minutes or so, before making my way to the Bridge and taking over the Science Station from the new ensign there.

 

     Less than two hours into my shift, an urgent message invaded the radio to the Captain’s chair.

“Captain! Captain, we’ve been ambushed. Mr. Spock’s badly wounded.”

     “We’re beaming you up, Reardon. Stand by.” Kirk punched another button on his com chair.

     “Kirk to Transport. Beam up landing party, now!”

     I turned and watched anxiously as James T. Kirk rushed through the doors of the lift, Sulu taking his place at the com, immediately. When I started to follow the Captain, Sulu stopped me.

     “Get back to your post, Miss Marlain. That matter is no concern of yours.”

     But, I thought, _If Spock is injured, it is my concern._

     They’d taken him to Sick Bay, although not even the talented Dr. McCoy seemed capable of doing much of any worth. Spock’s wounds were deadly serious, and everyone worried. Then Spock awoke and started calling my name.

     “I’ll get her, Spock,” McCoy said. “Just calm down.” He turned to his com to call me but the captain prevented it.

     “She doesn’t have any business here. What’s he want her for?”

     “He wants her, and that’s enough for me.” Bones completed the contact to the bridge, and I was at Spock’s side within minutes.

     “I’m here,” I said, taking his hand. I’m here, now.”

     “Good,” was all he said.

     I glanced above the bed to the diagnostic panel, where the pulsating red life, indicating his heart rate, was slowing rapidly and then stopped.

     “Get the paddles,” McCoy yelled to Chapel. When she hesitated, he shouted again, “Go on, hurry!”

     This time she obeyed, and McCoy took the paddles, placing one each on Spock’s left lower abdomen, and waited for the amperage tor each the desired level, before asking us all to stand back. The first shock shuddered the Vulcan’s body. A second wait, and then the electricity pulsed through him again, although the red light was still stagnant. A third time produced no results, as well.

    “Doctor,” I said, “reverse the polarity.”

    “Why?”

    “Please, sir, he only has three minutes left before his brain begins to die. I’ll explain later. Besides, what do we have to lose?” 

     Bones flicked the green switch above the bed to the left and waited again. Again, when the correct amperage level had been reached, the charge surged through Spock’s body, making him convulse in reaction. Above the bed, the red light began to throb with renewed life, Spock’s blood pressure readings continued to rise, and color returned to his almost gray face.

     In relief, I leaned against the wall.

     McCoy pulled aside the metal paddles and studied me. “So, how did you know that would work?”

     “My experimentation with Human electrical body flow didn’t match the records we had on Vulcans. I later discovered, after several attempts, the polarity of Humans is the reverse of Vulcans.”

     “So, instead of stimulating his heart, the shock removed energy from his body.”

     “Yes.”

     “Completely logical,” Spock finished, barely above a whisper.

     We all turned to look at him, and I took his hand, once more.

     “She saved my life, Doctor,” he said, firmly grasping my hand. “Don’t you think you should at least thank her?”

     McCoy looked at Kirk then me. “Sure, she has my thanks.”

     “And mine,” Kirk added.

     “Especially mine,” Spock finished, his eyes meeting mine.

    “You, be quiet!” ordered McCoy. “You almost died, and you’re still not out of the woods, so don’t go playing with what luck you may have left.”

     Spock went silent.

     McCoy took out his scanner to further examine the Vulcan, stepping in front of me, an opportunity I saw to leave unnoticed.

 

    

     On my return to the Bridge, my mind remained a muddy stream of confusion. Different than the man I had previously admired, Spock was now almost a stranger. I wondered if things between us could ever be… I couldn’t even think of what I wanted. Normalcy, love, devotion, or respect. What would it be like to be married to a Vulcan, for a Human, for anyone? Did I possess the necessary elements to be a wife to any man?

     Aware Spock waited my answer, I made a point of seeing him the following day.

 

     As soon as I arrived, he made certain we were left alone.

     “Lyra,” he said after McCoy and the ever-present, idolizing Nurse Chapel had left, “have you made your decision?”

     “We haven’t spoken much of this, I realize,” I began. “So, now I ask you, if you want me as your wife out of love or to satisfy your physical needs during _pon farr_?”

     “I want you, because you, above all other women I know, stimulate me intellectually. I respect you, I find your company enjoyable. Are not many marriages based on those elements? I cannot guarantee I will ever love you, but perhaps our mutual regard can morph into that emotion. As to my physical needs during _pon_ farr, yes, I do require a reliable partner, one I find attractive during the ensuing years between those sept-annual events. However, in all honesty, I cannot say otherwise.”

     I looked down a moment then up again. “Then I can’t marry you, Spock.”

     “May I ask why?”

     “I don’t love you, not really, and as you’ve probably heard, Humans need mutual love to start a marriage that will last. Your parents did, obviously, so how can you choose differently?”

     “I have known of Human marriages which did not include this love you speak of. Yes, my parents did and still do love each other, but I fail to see what bearing—”

     “I’m sorry, Spock, truly I am, but I must have love before I marry anyone, not just you.”

     “In that case, I accept your decision, although I would consider it an honor if we could remain friends and spend time together away from work. I admire you a great deal, Lyra.”

     I’m sure I blushed at his words, at least I felt my face grown warm. “Sure, I see no reason we can’t be friends.”

     “Good, then promise to dine with me after I am released from here.”

     “Oh, all right,” I said taking his hand to seal the bargain. “I guess I can do that much.”

 

    So, that’s how I became one of Spock’s few friends. A different kind of friendship than he had with James Kirk or any of the other officers. We never spoke of what would happen when his next _pon farr_ threatened, and I wasn’t around when it did. Soon after Spock’s release from Sick Bay, I received a promotion to Lt. Commander and transferred to _The Exeter_ as Chief of Laboratory Sciences.

    Several Vulcans occupied this starship but there were none like Spock, these being full-blooded, except for one, a woman. Even though she appeared Human and used a Human name, she was also an important citizen of Vulcan, according to ship’s gossip. Since she held a position of authority as my superior officer in Science, I encountered her quite often, and as hard as it may be to believe, heard she had married a Romulan defector.

     Of course, when I ran across her with him—and a good-looking hunk he was, too—I often thought of Spock and my grandiose plan before that Christmas/New Year’s Eve party. Whenever I did, a quotation kept running through my head, something like, “Concerning the best laid plans of mice and men, we often hear, ‘What might have been.’”

 

The End

  

    

    


End file.
